


an art to life's distractions

by whataboutateakettle



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood Loss, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutateakettle/pseuds/whataboutateakettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They weren’t using comms, weren’t expecting an ambush like this; or she hadn’t been paying enough attention, distracted by casual hands and knowing smiles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	an art to life's distractions

**Author's Note:**

> LITERALLY I GOT A PAPERCUT AND THOUGHT OF THIS WHILE I WAS BLEEDING FOR 0.2 SECONDS BECAUSE I'M A MELODRAMATIC SHIT.  
> (Like totes unedited, and totes unplanned. Enjoy.)

She can hear him yelling from 20 feet away, maybe more, but his voice is muffled by the distance and the gunshots and her whole body tensing as she tries to keep a strong grip on her arm. She’s trying to steady her breath, but it keeps hitching in her chest, the pain piercing through her arm without fail. She can feel the blood seeping through her fingers, squeezes them a little tighter, bites her lip until it’s bleeding too.

For a second there’s silence; they’ve stopped shooting, although she doubts they’re done and, and she tries to listen for footsteps through the ringing in her ears. She leans her head back against the concrete wall she’s huddled against and regrets it immediately; she shuts her eyes against the dizziness, squeezes them tighter against the pain and spinning. She knows she’s losing blood faster than she thought, but she doesn’t know where he is, or even when they got separated. They weren’t using comms, weren’t expecting an ambush like this; or she hadn’t been paying enough attention, distracted by casual hands and knowing smiles. If she can get herself to her knees, maybe she can see across the lot, maybe she can find him.  

She pulls herself away from the wall, slowly, swallows a groan when even more pain shoots through her arm as it moves, as her fingers pull against the muscle. She tries to take a deep breath, prepare herself for shifting her weight and moving her legs, which now feel a bit numb, but before she can do anything there’s another gunshot, and another. The sound booms over the wall, and she slams herself back against it in a panic, her heart clenches out of something other than fear though, but she hears him again, _finally_ , calling her name.  

She can hear heavy footsteps on the gravel, getting louder, until there’s a loud crunch of knees and denim and _he’s there_ , hands on her neck for a split second before they’re prying away her blood-covered fingers and she can feel his warm palm wrap around her arm. Only then does she let go of the breath she’s been holding, didn’t even realise it until it shakily passes her lips and she blinks her eyes open.

He’s focused, scanning her from head to toes, until she shakes her head. He keeps one hand on her arm, pressure solid and steady rather than her own trembling hand, and reaches the other one out to hold her jaw, stares at her face as he turns it side to side. She keeps her eyes on him, knows what he’s doing, what he needs, but also to take him in. He’s not hurt, not that she can tell.

He lets her jaw go, but not before brushing a thumb gently over her lower lip, where she could feel the dry blood had set. He frowns, lets his gaze bounce up to meet hers for a split second before he abandons her face completely and turns all of his attention to her arm.

“Don’t move,” he warns, as he moves her arm forward so he can pull her jacket sleeve off.

“I’m fine,” she bites back on instinct. She wants to get out of here, away from the lot, away from the shooters.  She knows they can’t though, she’s can barely sit up and who knows how many rounds those guys have left.

“Happy,” he sighs, not even looking up at her as he’s examining her, “I know you’re Superwoman, but even _she_ bleeds so _let me help you_.”

Later, she’ll refuse to call him Superman, but now she watches as he puts one hand above the wound, squeezes tightly, and pulls her forearm out towards him. She winces against the fresh pain, inhales sharply.

“Ah, crap, I was right” he mutters, moves his hand back over the blood, “The bullet nicked your brachial artery, that’s why you’re bleeding so fast. I’m going to need a tourniquet.”

She points down to her pack by her feet, he reaches over and grabs it, pulls the at the zipper with his teeth. She has some rags in there that she borrowed from her dad’s shop, a little stained and greasy, but neither of them care as he ties the cloth around her arm. He doesn’t move his hand, but loosens his grips a little and he gazes up with a weary smile.

“The good news is -”

“There’s good news?” She interrupts, voice unsteady and her face too tense to raise an eyebrow. But he looks at her seriously, continues anyway

“The bullet went all the way through. It means your bleeding more, which is bad for now, but it’ll mean a cleaner wound later. Also, the only way to get it out here would mean my fingers inside of you.”

She stares at him, her lips quirking up against her will and it’s not until now that she notices how much more tolerable the pain is, how much steadier her pulse is.

His eye widen as he watches her, tilts his head with a smirk and feigned outrage, “Happy Quinn, I can’t believe you. You just got shot and _that’s_ what you’re thinking about?”

She watches his face as he’s talking, lowers his gaze to his lips for a moment before licking her own, running her tongue over the dry blood. “You’re a good distraction, Doc.”

He is; a bad one too. She can’t shake the itching notion that she could have prevented this, could have avoided it if she’d been paying more attention. She knows he’d dismiss the idea, talk about what she can and can’t control, distract her all over again with roaming hands and gentle lips.

He looks at her knowingly, as he does a lot, like she’s written in a language only they share; shifts himself until he’s sitting next to her, wraps an arm over her shoulder and presses his lips to her hair, breathes her in.

Suddenly there’s another gunshot and his arm tenses around her as he lowers his head. There  are more gunshots, _more guns,_ and she hopes that it means what she thinks it means, especially when she hears ambulance sirens through the noise.

He whispers in her ear, something about calling Cabe when he saw her get hit and then, “Don’t scare me like that.” The words sound light, but she can tell by his tone, by the grip of his hands, that he’s serious. She remembers her heart dropping when she lost his voice across the lot, the tightness in her chest when she couldn’t place him by her side. She turns her head, rests it against him, takes in his steady breathing, the scent of his jacket.

She’s not supposed to close her eyes, she knows, he doesn’t even need to warn her, but her eyelids are starting to feel heavier than ever when she hears more footsteps coming towards them urgently. She registers Cabe’s voice, low and concerned, asking if she’s okay, paramedics rushing towards them, and Toby, all strong arms as he lifts her up, lays her on the stretcher, doesn’t let go of her hand.

Someone prods at her arm and the pain that had dulled pierces through her again and she focuses on his voice, squeezes his hand harder and he squeezes back. Doors close and the engine starts, and someone, a paramedic, is ripping off her sleeve. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open, feels pulled under by exhaustion and light-headedness. He leans down to her ear, so close that she can feel his warm breath on her skin, whispers promises of futures distractions if she stays awake now.

It’s a cheap shot, but her lips quirk up again, like she really can’t help it, and she opens her eyes to the harsh glow of the ambulance. He leans over her, gazing at her sideways for a moment before pressing a kiss to her forehead, letting it linger while she thinks of lips and hands and lets herself be distracted one more time.


End file.
